


Words and Knives

by thatonedudewiththename (orphan_account)



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2003)
Genre: Angst, Awkward Raph, Depressing, Fluff, Gay Raph, Gen, Homophobic Language, No pairings - Freeform, Pansexual Mikey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-24 10:57:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2579078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/thatonedudewiththename
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To Mikey, words never spoken hurt worse than any weapon ever could.<br/>In which Mikey has a nightmare, and the only one there to comfort him is the one who hurt him the most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words and Knives

**Author's Note:**

> This came out... A lot angstier than I intended. I blame Take Me to Church by Hozier, which I was listening to non-stop the entire time I wrote this.

This was for sure the worst nightmare that Mikey had ever had.  
That was what ran through Mikey's head as he tried to wake himself from the horrible voices and terrible images that bombarded his usually cheerful mind: shouts of awful things that his brothers and sensei would never, never say to him; "Why don't you fucking leave already?"  
"It's not like we can't get on without you."  
"You just goof around and get scared all the time. Fucking useless."  
"Michelangelo, you were always my least favourite son. I should have left you in the sewers."  
But the worst, oh gods, the absolute worst was when Raph said- "Get away from me, you fucking pussy faggot! Gay freak!"  
So much was yelled, screamed at him... it was deafening when he finally woke up, crying, and everything was silent, save for his occasional hiccupping sobs. His entire face and pillow were wet- soaked really, and his throat was on fire. For a while, he just sat on the edge of his bed, hands covering his face, breathing shallowly (as anything over that made him cough) and trying to calm himself. "You're fine, Mikey, it was just a dream. Just a dream! Just a dream, just a dream," he mumbled to himself over and over. Moments passed, but he didn't feel any better; if anything, he felt even worse, as the longer he sat, the more his mind stewed over the dream and replayed it, like he'd never even woken up. So, abruptly, he stood up, banged his head on the wall to try and clear it, and then shuffled out of his room in the direction of the bathroom to take a cold shower and brush his teeth- which was odd on its own, but he just really, really needed to keep busy.  
The shower... not a good idea. Too much emptyness in his mind, not enough to do. Brushing his teeth didn't help any, either, so he started singing to himself as he walked to the kitchen to get food, only to find that his stomach felt too sick to eat. All this left him standing in the entrance to the kitchen, hands balled into fists, eyes squeezed shut, mouth quickly reciting every song on his iPod in alphabetical order, starting with American Idiot.  
That was how Raphael found him. At first, he wasn't sure what he was seeing; it wasn't like Mikey to _stand_ in front of the kitchen and not go _in,_ especially when there was leftover pizza waiting for him in the fridge, but then he saw the agonised expression on his brother's face and quickened his pace over to him. "Mikey? Michelangelo, are ya alright?" He asked, hand hovering over Mikey's right shoulder.  
When Mikey heard Raph's voice, the entirety of Raph's dialogue from his dream came rushing back to him like a dam breaking, and Mikey just... _screamed._ Screamed, and fell to his pad-covered knees, bawling. "Go away!" He yelled. "Just GO!"  
Raph held up his hands, quickly backing away with wide eyes; this... this was new. He didn't know how to deal with... _this,_ whatever _this_ was, that his normally energetic and ray-of-sunshine-like brother was going through. But, unfortunately, no one else was there to help him, so it looked like he would have to wing it. 'Do I leave 'im alone? Or is that not what I'm s'posedta do?' He thought, trying to recall something, anything, that might help him in this situation. He decided to try some comfort techniques that he'd seen somewhere. "Uhm... hey, Mikey, I uh... do you wanna, maybe, play Battle Ravage?" He'd seen somewhere that video games were a good way to distract the mind.  
Mikey shakily stood up, almost falling over, making Raph reach out to keep him upright. The sad turtle sniffed, using the tails of his masks to wipe the snot and tears from his face. Raph grimaced, but didn't speak on it. "Sure-sure," Mikey crossed his arms and bent inwards on himself, his expression so depressed that he looked like a completely different turtle. Raph sighed inwardly; good, because if Mikey had said no he wouldn't know what else to do. Trying to smile, he patted Mikey on the shoulder, leading him to the entertainment center and sitting him down on the right cushion of the sofa, handing him controller one before turning the middle TV on and switching the input to AVI 2. Once that was done, and he'd turned on the gaming console, he sat down next to his disheartened brother and awkwardly rubbed his knee, pressing the start button on the controller to start the game as he asked, "You wanna choose the level?"  
Inside Mikey's head, he couldn't hear anything over the yelling; the awful, horrible, constant yelling; it ate away at him, the feeling like a thousand tiny spoons being shoved into his skin all at once. His eyes, half-lidded and empty with dark circles beneath them, stared blankly at the TV screen. For a moment- when he saw the Battle Ravage title screen- his mind was silent, coherent thought, however depressing, allowed itself to manifest, and he found himself saying: "You hate me, don't you, Raphie?"  
Raphael literally choked on his own spit, spluttering, _"Excuse_ me?"  
Mikey slowly turned his head to face Raph, who was kinda weirded out by it but was too shocked at the words falling out of his brother's mouth to really think on it. "You do, don't you? I mean, why wouldn't you? You hit me all the time. I'm useless. A useless fag, just like you said."  
The way Mikey said that, so deadpan and hollow, made Raph shudder. But then, the words really struck him, and in spite of himself, he got angry. "What the fuck is this bullshit? 'Just like I said'? When the fuck have I _ever_ called you useless? Or a f-" Raph stopped, shutting his eyes and shaking with a pained expression. Calmer thanks to some deep breathing, he went on. "I would _never, never_ call you those things. And I don't hate ya, Jesus." He breathed out heavily and rubbed a hand over his face. "Mikey," He scooted closer to his brother and embraced him. "Michelangelo, bro, _where_ is all this coming from?"  
The initial trauma of the nightmare returning had worn off, and now, thanks to Raph's words and the contact of green skin against a different tint of green skin, Mikey was just a crying mess. "I had a bad dream!" He bawled, much like he had many years ago when he was a young toddler. "You were- yelling at me! Everyone was yelling at me! Calling me... horrible things! I-I couldn't... it-"  
"Shh, Shh," Raphael cut him off; to be honest, he didn't need to hear any more- nor did Mikey, for that matter. "It's OK now, Raphie's here. It was just a bad dream, alright? You can't let it hurt you now. I'll stop hittin' ya if ya don't like it, ok?" By now, Raph was slowly petting Mikey's head and shell to comfort him, something Master Splinter used to do once upon a time. It seemed to be working, because the sobs had died down, and, after a few minutes of petting and whispering, Mikey was on the edge of sleep, curled up in Raph's lap.  
This was how Leo, Donnie, and Master Splinter found them about thirteen minutes later when they returned from a supply run with April and Casey. Upon entering, Raph shushed them, finger held up to his lips and then pointed down at the slumbering mutant turtle, who had a smile on his face. Master Splinter wanted to ask what had happened, but judging by the exhausted and pained look on his still-awake son's face, he knew that it was best to ask when both he and Michelangelo were emotionally rejuvenated.

_**Fin.** _


End file.
